Ishimura and the Merry Band of WAAAAAAAGH!
by Angry Santo
Summary: Some were good, others bad. Some died a coward, others a martyr. Yet this changed nothing, for in the end, every person in the Ishimura was forced to face something terrible, something they could not defeat, something that Should Not Be. This is not their story. Oi! 'Tis is 'ta ruddin UGLYEST friggin squigg EVAR!
1. The start

Crack bunnies are an even greater disaster than Plotbunnies.

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The USG Ishumura. A derelict planet cracker, first of its class. The single oldest ship humanity had commissioned to slowly and surely consume a planet whole. It would become the cradle to something horrible, inhuman. Its crowded halls would witness both the best and worst humanity had to offer.

A last stand made by one single Hero who sought to hold back the tide of inhuman monstrosities, seeking only to protect those who could not protect themselves. Another would see the first person to make it to the relative safety of a closed room, sealing the door behind them, dooming dozens more to a painful death at the hands of abominations, defilement the only thing that awaited them at the end of their struggles. Yet another would see those who broke from despair, and laid into their fellow man, killing and maiming dozens before they were brought down like the rabid animal they had become.

Things both great and horrid happened in the halls of the Ishimura. Leaving behind only a terrible void. An Abomination. And many, many questions. Questions that would be faced and answered by one fated man, a man who would bargain his very soul on a quest that failed long, _long_ before he was even informed such a mission needed to be undertaken.

This, is not their story.

"Oi! Wut 'ta hell d' ya think yer doing ya blasted git! We need to go 't the 'humies not away from 'em!" Screamed Rotgut the Gutrotted at the Mekboy who was currently 'steering (read: yelling at the computer to move forward)' the Space Hulk.

"D'ya think I'm supid boss!? I keepz tellin' 'tis stoopid fing t' move forwardz! But it jus' dun listen!"

" 'Ten do sometin abou' it ya bloodeh gitz!" Roared Rotgut.

"Boss! I needs more powah from 't enginz!" Screamed the Mekboy as he banged on a random screen with a wrench. "Open communi…communiu…communicutili…ZOGG IT! Yell at 'ta buncha gitz 't work fastah!"

Rotgut moved to the 'communications terminal (read: The door to the 'bridge')' and 'opened communications.' "PUT YER BACKS INTO IT YA BLOODEH GITZ! UNLES YA WAN' ME 'T GIV' YA A GOOD STOMPIN!"

Impossible as it should be, his hollered demand echoed through the enormous length of the haphazard ship, traveling even through the compartments opened to the merciless Void, where no air was even present to carry the message. All the way to the boyz at the 'engines' causing them to shrink in fear of the Boss and work harder to make the abused engines blaze.

"Boss!" Screamed the Mekboy.

"Not now ya gitz I'm givin' orders 'ta tha boyz!"

"But Boss!" Repeated the Mekboy shrilly.

"I SAID NOT NOW YA GITZ! UNLESS YA WAN' ME 'T GIVE YA A GOOD STOMPIN!"

"B-But Boss!" Screamed the Mekboy fearfully.

"TAT'S IT! I'MA STOMP YA TO THE FLOOR YA STUPID WORTHLES-!"

Whatever else Rotgut was going to do to the hapless Mekboy was cut off, as the onrushing warpstorm that the poor Tinker 'ta Tinkers had attempted to warn Rotgut of engulfed them completely. Causing the Imperial defenders to cry in cheer as the backbone of the ork invasion was swallowed into the merciless and cursed Immaterium.

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The USG Ishimura, a vessel that, in all honesty, belonged in a museum. It had been the first ship to test revolutionary technology. A physical monument to human ingenuity. It floated, lifeless, corrupted, cold, stained.

Something decidedly Wrong had taken roost in it. Something terrible, Inhuman.

The dead were violated, deformed, re-made. The flesh of the living changed, warped, consumed. The dead walked the halls, seeking nothing more than to create more like them, the living fed upon one another, having long ago become something much less than Man, having traded that elusive and worthless thing called 'Humanity' discarded it in order to survive.

One of the walking dead heard something, a sniffle, a cry, a voice. It turned its 'head' to better track it, readied its scything limbs, lavishing under the crimson rain that fell from them.

And then a purple colored portal opened above it and deposited two hundred and fifty pounds of greenskin atop it.

"OOPH!" Said the ork boy as he squashed something with his landing. "Wut ta ruddin-?" He began to ask after he got up and noticed the thing below him.

The Ork Boy stared at something corrupt, something that Should Not Be, a sight that would drive most humans to madness with fear.

"Oi! 'Tis is 'ta ruddin _**UGLYEST**_ friggin squigg _Evar!_ Who 'ta ruddy hell letcha live?" Said Stompah.

The Necromorph sprang to its feet and roared.

Stompah recognized this as a sign of aggression and so did the thing for which his race was so known.

"WWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAGGH!" He exclaimed loudly as he brought his choppa around in an arc and tore the head off the Necromoph in a gory shower.

It kept coming and sunk its talons deep into Stompah's flesh.

"ARGH! 'TA HURTZ YA BLODDEH GIT!" Said Stompah intelligently as he kicked the Necromorph in the chest, sending it to the floor, its limbs trashing wildly.

Stompah screamed once more and sunk his choppa to the floor, cleaving through its right limb without trouble, he then took hold of its left limb, planted his boot on the Necromorphs chest and pulled, tearing the limb right off.

He then beat the twitching corpse to death with its own arm.

An indeterminate time later, Stompah sat back and admired his work.

"_Ugly_ friggin squigg." He muttered as he picked up his choppa, readied his slugga and began to stomp around the halls of the human ship, looking for 'Them 'humies 'ta stomp' muttering the age old Ork WAAAGH traveling song.

"'_Ere we go 'Ere we go 'ere we go._

"_And 'were we end up we dunno._

"_Ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go._

"_And were we end up we dunno._

"_Ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go._

"_And were we end up we dunno."_

In other places in the Ishimura, similar scenes could be seen repeating themselves.

In some a single Ork went against countless Necromorphs, eventually brought down by the sheer weight of numbers on a bizarre twist of Fate.

In others the Ork in question roared victorious, covered in blood and gore, surrounded by the slain corpses of his enemies.

Yet in every single one of these scenes, in each and every one that an Ork lived. The same thing could be seen happening.

Orks had to look for more Boyz, because a stompin' had to happen.

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This will be a series of shorts, a few hundred to maybe a thousand words per chapter at most. Of mostly isolated but overall connected instances of Orks getting in trouble in the Ishimura.

The is only one thing that can be assured.

It will be a funny ride.


	2. They see me Burnin'

Had the dumbest idea in class, proceeded to write.

Man, I may play Guard, but you _can't_ not love the Orkz xD.

If anyone has any idea for a cracky something to happen, feel free to drop it in a review and I'll see if it plucks my muse strings. :3

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Doughkrak roared in laughter as he pressed the firing trigger of his Skorcha, covering the crowd of Necromorphs before him in burning promethium. The substance igniting their skin as they began to thrash wildly in a futile attempt to put themselves out, cutting into their flesh in a mad frenzy even as the fire consumed them.

Doughkrak stopped, took a draw of the cigar in his mouth, and kicked one of the still twitching corpses. "HA!" He said as he began to dance a jig on those he had slain. "You stoopid gitz thought you could stomp the mig…mighut...mighity…ZOGG IT! You thinks you could stomp Doughkrak! Not gonna happen wiv ma Skorcha!" He screamed as he waved the aforementioned weapon above his head.

A low cry was made, akin to a coughing grunt, it repeated itself several times before giving away to a long, drawn out screech.

Doughkrak could feel the deck-plates trembling below him. From the other side of the hall, he saw the first of a crowd of Necromorphs step through.

"Oi oi! Moar gitz fer me ta stomp! Today iz a good day!" Said Doughkrak as he thumbed the trigger to put on a show of force.

The Skorcha proceeded to give a pathetic sputter of flame, then died.

"Oh boy." Said Doughkrak as the Necromorphs started charging. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! I'm outta Burna Gobbins!" He exclaimed in dismay.

The thought of retreat, quarter, or surrender, never went into his head. It would take a whole field of dead Orks around him for fear to begin making its way into his mind after all. However, Doughkrak instinctively knew that he would not survive if he did not get his trusty Skorcha to burn.

The Necromorphs where half of the way to him when Doughkrak had an idea. He hastily disengaged the fuel hose of his Skorcha from the empty tank at his back.

The Necromorphs where three quarters of the way to him when his plan was finished.

Doughkrak had wound the hose around his body, and stuck its end into the back of his pants.

"Come smell sumfing Orky ya gitz!" He screamed as he let it rip, the Skorcha spewing out a gout of green flame that put the heat it had shown before to shame. Whereas the fire before had caused the Necromorphs to seem to melt as their body caught fire. This green flame all but vaporized them.

Doughkrak killed a full half of the crowd in this way, laughing maniacally all the while.

And then he ran out of gas.

"Oh oh." Said Doughkrak as he desperately tapped his belly, receiving a sullen grumble in response to his frantic strikes. His insides shifted and spat out one last puff of gas that the Skorcha burnt before falling completely silent.

He looked to the advancing crowd of Necromorphs and knew to say only one thing.

"Awww _nuts_."

He was then torn limb from limb in a violent orgy as the Necromorphs finally closed the distance to him and laid into him with savage glee.


	3. Dakka Dakka!

Heh. Been a while eh? =P

I had planned to update this one more often. But then stuff happened.

_Anyways!_

Time to have a little more fun!

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"Dakka dakka! Dakka dakka! Dakka dakka!" Screamed Sluggin, completely unconcerned that he was out of ammo and wishing to convey the stunning sound of his weapon firing nonetheless.

Surrounding Sluggin were countless mutated, corrupt, corpses. The twitching remains of dozens of Necromorphs that stood testament to the brute power of an Ork gun.

Normally, one would be unable to fell a Necromorph by firing at its head or torso. If one made a big enough hole in the place its vitals used to be, any further ammo used would simply travel through that, allowing the Necromorph to close in the distance and tear the defender apart with ease.

However, the caliber and rate of fire of the weapon used were so great that the destruction caused by them annihilated the torso entirely, leaving the limbs that one would need to sever on the floor.

The end result was the same, but the process was supremely wasteful.

"Dakka dakka! Dakka dakka! Dakka dakka!"

Not that the owner of the weapon could bring himself to care.

Sluggin realized that his weapon was no longer firing when the 'Dakka dakka!' that rung on his ears was not accompanied by the telltale sparks all around his target. Those sparks would denote the many rounds that were fired around the enemy until the Ork got lucky or somehow miraculously managed to correct his aim.

The Necromorph raised its scything limbs in order to strike down the living before it.

Roughly forty pounds of mostly solid metal struck one of its arms and its head from its body. Sending it to the floor.

Sluggin proceeded to beat the Necromorph until it stopped moving with his Shoota. A task that took quite a while due to the simple fact that a blunt object is not the best evisceration tool.

"Ha! Yous can't suvi-survivus-survivori-survivire…Zogg it! My Shoota stomped ya to the bloodeh floor!" Roared Slugga in victory at the twitching corpse.

With that, Sluggin drew his choppa and kept moving. He had been attacked on and off by the Necromorphs since he had been thrown into the dying vessel. He'd only been able to eat their disgusting putrefying flesh, he was covered in lacerations, sporting a black eye, and had lost three of his fingers and one toe.

It was the most fun he'd ever had.

Sluggin heard something that caused him to pause. It was…a giggle.

"Who 'ta ruddin?" He wondered aloud as he scratched his head with the still-hot barrel of his shoota. Having nothing better to do, he moved toward it to investigate it. When he stepped through the door, Sluggin saw something that gave even an Ork pause.

There was a human woman standing there, repeatedly stabbing into the stomach of a man drenched in blood, each time the knife pierced his flesh he would release an agonized mewl, much too far gone to do anything more.

With a maddened giggle, she twisted the knife cruelly and ended the suffering of the ruin before her. "Dead! Dead dead! All dead! We're all dead!" She said in a sing song voice, dancing closer to the Ork. "We'll all be one! We'll all be one! Death is naught but the sta-"

The woman's insane ramblings were interrupted as forty pounds of smoothbore gun were brought down unto her head. The force of the strike all but drove her to the floor, where the unyielding metal proceeded to prove it was quite more resistant to impact than her tender flesh.

She twitched, giggled, gurgled, and lied still.

Sluggin grunted. "Damn Humies, always talkin' an' never puttin' up a good foight'." He said as he walked further into the room, absently scratching his rump.

As he stepped on the dead human, his foot touched something it probably should not have, and a device on the woman's left wrist beeped and let off a light.

"Whu?" Was Sluggin's intelligent response. He knelt next to the woman and studied it. "Dis looks like…" He said as he made his beady red eyes even beadier. "Dis looks like…SHINY BITZ!" He screamed as he happily tore the device off the corpse's wrist.

The ventilation shaft on the wall next to him exploded out as a disgusting horror emerged from it. Sluggin reacted on instinct and punched it in the face with his left hand.

The device then lit up, vibrated, and emitted a bright light. The bright light rushed forth and enveloped a metal crate, this metal crate proceeded to rush to Sluggin quite quickly. Sluggin, assuming this to be an attack, unconsciously swung his shoota into the crate, knocking it sideways.

It then smacked into his nose with a crunch.

"Oomph!" Was his commentary on the proceedings, the force of the strike forced him to take several steps back and flung his left hand to the side, and the movement caused the metal crate to shoot out at a great speed and strike the wall loudly. It then rebounded from the wall and smacked the unspeakable horror in the chest, knocking it back. The device activated again, and took hold of the crate, smacking it against Sluggin's chest, staggering him.

The horror rushed forth into the opening on the Ork's defenses. Sluggin tried punching it again, and instead shot the still-suspended metal crate into the thing's chest. The crate then rebounded from the thing, ricocheted off two walls and hit Sluggin in the back of his thick skull, sending him staggering forward.

This of course, caused his arm to be flung out, the light once again coming from the device clutched in his meaty green fist. The light this time enveloped a bonesaw and flung it at Sluggin.

Sluggin was barely able to see it coming and ducked, throwing himself to the floor.

The monster that had been trying to eat Sluggin's face however, was not so lucky.

The bonesaw was driven into its chest with such fury that it not only sunk itself into it to the hilt, but it sent the horror flying back, and impaled it against the metal wall where it proceeded to flail about and scream.

That is, until Sluggin got back up and beat it to death with his Shoota.

Once it had been tenderized and pulped to Sluggin's satisfaction, he took a moment to look into the beeping device on his left hand, the strange field that took possession of loose objects surrounding his hand in cackling power.

He stared at it long and hard. He then looked up, his eyes very wide indeed.

"Oi iz a Weirdboy." Said Sluggin, reverent awe filling his voice.

Two hours and sixteen minutes later, subsection C-15 of the USG Ishimura collapsed and was set adrift into space as, impossible as it should have been, something managed to remove the metal support connecting it to the ship's spine.

With nothing more than a lowly kinesis module.


End file.
